Bullseye
by Unknown-Bliss
Summary: One of the BAU is kidnapped by the unsub of their recent case; the unsub that is smarter than first thought. What's worse is that the unsub isn't one of their suspects and doesn't even to fit the profile! COMPLETE!
1. The Unsub

**Bonjour! I am uber excited! This is my first Criminal Minds fic EVER! I must say, it's good getting back to an American setting.**_** All**_** of my other fics are of Torchwood, which takes place in Wales. Anyways, I've been a fan of CM for some time, but I never got around to actually thinking of a fic. (I had to force my brain to think of this… I really, r**_**eally **_**wanted to write a Criminal Minds fic.) I'm not gonna tell you who this is about just yet. This will be a grand total of three chapters long. Hooray!**

**Disclaimer: I in no way own Criminal Minds or any related things. I simply own these ideas conjured up in geometry class.**

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I groaned. Although I opened my eyes, I could only see black. I tried to bring my hand to my head to soothe my pounding headache, but I realized that my hands were bound behind me. My legs were tied to the wooden chair that I was seated in. It creaked every time I shifted my weight.

"Damn!" I muttered as it dawned on me where I was. The unsub!

I struggled against my bonds, but they were strong and tight. After a minute, I gave up, slumping in the chair. I attempted to think back to earlier in the day (Or was it yesterday? I had no idea how long I'd been there.).

Despite my sharp memory, I could only recall some snippets of the profile:

"-male, in his late thirties or early forties."

"-aggressive-"

"-sloppy, unfocused-"

"-childhood abuse- most likely by the father-"

"-the stressor-"

"-blames them for-"

I shook my head, trying to clear my mind. There was one thing about the unsub that I could remember clear as day: his victim choices. They were all in their fifties or sixties, successful, and spent much of their time at work. They were divorced, often more than once, and they were all single at the time. Keeping that in mind, the whole situation made little sense to me. If this was indeed the work of the unsub (and I was almost completely positive it was), then there was something terribly off. This unsub didn't kidnap. He didn't have the patience to. Each of the victims was found mutilated in their own homes. They hadn't gone missing or anything. The unsub would not change the way he operated for me. While I was aware that situations like mine _did_ occur, there was no doubt in my mind that this was terribly wrong. The unsub wouldn't switch gears for one FBI agent, especially if that agent fit the bill perfectly as a potential victim.

Once more, I furiously fought against the ropes in a futile attempt to free myself. I didn't bother screaming or crying for help, for I knew it would be completely useless. It would probably just aggravate the unsub. That was something I did not want to do. Again, I relinquished my efforts.

"I guess it's just my turn," I spat bitterly.

An undetermined time later, I heard footsteps from above me. A light flooded through the darkness, assaulting my eyes which had adjusted to the dark. Slow, even thuds signaled the descent of a person down steps. Seconds later, the silhouette of a person stood about a yard away from me. The shadow (a man) raised a hand, pulling on a chain. The weak overhead light of the single bulb cast ominous shadows all around me. In front of me stood a man. This man had a sadistic grin on his face. That was definitely not a good sign.

"David Rossi, was it?" the man asked innocently. In his hand, he held my ID and badge. Boredly, he tossed them aside. The skidded uselessly across the floor.

"I've been known to be called that," I answered, seemingly nonchalant.

"David… Dave… Can I call you Dave?" I didn't move a muscle. "Wonderful!" he crooned. "I'm John Smith," the man said, a smirk playing on his lips. "Well, not really," he chuckled, "but you understand, don't you, being a profiler and all?"

"Of course," I replied, a scathing look plastered on my face.

"Good! Perfect!" The man stuck his hand in his pocket, pulling out a dirty handkerchief.

_Oh, God,_ I thought. He was going to gag me with _that_ thing.

"Now that we're done with introductions…" He tied the cloth around my mouth, cutting off anything I had to say. "Unfortunately, I'm not here for pleasant conversation. Neither are you. You're just here for my amusement. When I saw you, I thought you were simply perfect! Being FBI is an added bonus!" I guessed he meant I fit the description of the other victims when he said I was 'perfect.' His sickly-sweet tone was beginning to get on my nerves.

I scrutinized the unsub. Just looking at him and hearing him talk made me unsure in I was I hadn't been for years. The only thing that fit the profile we'd compiled was that this "John Smith" was a male. Everything else…

The unsub dressed nicely with a clean-cut hairstyle and a clean shaven face. He looked like he was in his late twenties. Everything about him was orderly. His face and manner was calm, relaxed, even calculating. He was standing straight with perfect composure. His speech was paced and well thought out.

"Like what you see?" Smith mocked, noticing my intense gaze. He did a full turn for me. "Am I everything that you expected and more? Or is it just the opposite?" he said slyly, picking up on the reason for my analysis. I frowned.

How I longed for my M1911. That would wipe the arrogant smirk off of Smith's face. Given the situation, though, it was obvious that the smug unsub had the gun in his possession.

Carefully, the unsub busied himself. He tightened the ropes around my arms and the ones binding my legs to the chair, cutting off much of my circulation. I could hear him moving things behind me, where I couldn't see. A heard the sharp sound of metal against metal, and I could vividly picture what he was handling.

Normally, I would make every crack at talking with the unsub; do something to get myself free. Maybe make the unsub nervous and sloppy. Though it seemed that Smith anticipated my smooth-talking, gagging me as a solution. I shifted in the hard wooden chair awkwardly.

"Everything comfy, Dave?" Smith chuckled condescendingly. He passed me by once more, back into my line of vision. As he did so, he ruffled my hair like he would with a child. "Oh, what I have planned for you! We're going to have so much fun! You'll be so much more entertaining than Ryan and Matt!" I recognized the names as two of the five total victims.

I glared daggers at the man. Smith smiled wickedly at me, shutting off the light.

"Bye bye, Davey. I'll be back soon!" the unsub called sweetly, before leaving me alone in the darkness once more.

I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself and clear my mind. This unsub… he was so infuriating! His patronizing tone, his over-calm façade, not to mention his subtle hints of how he planned on dealing with me… I was used to dealing with these kinds of people (I'd dealt with dozens), but never when _I_ was the one stuck in the chair… It was all wrong! It didn't fit!

_What did we do wrong? We had the profile,_ I recalled. _We had the suspects, and this man isn't one of them! Everything was going smoothly, so what happened? What the hell went wrong?!_

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I'm a bit evil. It's very hard to write something like this, I've realized, whilst listening to the Mamma Mia! Soundtrack… Anyhoo… Smith was fun to write for. He's so damn malevolent! I was debating to make Reid the character for this one, 'cause he's my all-time favorite character. I felt there are a lot of Reid-centric fics out there already, so I made a Rossi one! I love Rossi, too. He's probably my second favorite… Next chappy's going to be a flashback, and the third will be Rossi's escape… or non-escape. Whichever. And as for the title, I sometimes like to use metaphors or symbolism. See if you can glean what Bullseye means.

**Review please, please, please!**


	2. Flashback

…**THAT took like furevuh… Anyhoo, now's the second shortest-of-the-three-chapters chapter. Everyone see Masterpiece? Brilliant! That's why I love both Rossi and Reid… I think it's a bit sad that I was cracking up laughing at Reid's joke… maybe more that a bit sad… Anyways!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds.**

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_Earlier that day…_

"Remember, this unsub is impulsive and will go to any lengths not to get caught," Hotch concluded.

"But," I added, "he's a coward, especially now. He'll be hiding in the shadows now he knows we're on to him. He'll be irrational and desperate."

"We need to be careful. At this point, he's unpredictable." Hotchner nodded tersely, signaling the end of the profiling.

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_Five hours later…_

"Talk to me baby girl," I heard Morgan say from the corner some time later. He held his cell phone to his ear. He nodded a few times slightly. "Alright, thanks." He snapped the phone shut, turning to the rest of us. "Garcia's got a name: Jude Sears. According to her, his rap sheet is nothing to laugh about."

"How big is it?" Reid chimed in.

"Big," Morgan affirmed, "but they couldn't get him on any of the major crimes; not enough evidence. From what Garcia said, he's seems like our guy."

"Address?" I inquired.

"She's got it on its way," Morgan replied. I nodded once, leaning against the wall, waiting.

"What else is there?" Prentiss spoke up.

Morgan closed his eyes in thought. "Garcia said that it was luck she'd gotten him. Apparently, he's got two houses. The second one is right in the middle of the crime scenes. His job gives him access to all of the victims. The only reason we didn't catch it before was because his main residence is marked as his first house, which is miles away from the city."

"His job?" Hotch asked.

"Ice Cream man," Morgan answered wryly. I wasn't expecting that one…

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I was silent the whole was to Sears' house. Hotch was driving and Prentiss was in the back. The others had gone off to his other house, in case he was there.

What we'd found out about Sears thus far was that he was a high school dropout who'd gotten bad grades and had a problem with acting out. His mother had walked out on him and his drunkard father when he was fifteen. His father was an abusive man, and he'd died recently. That was probably the trigger that set him off. He was murdering these men who resembled his dad, using his job that required him driving around neighborhoods to scout out for perfect candidates. He had motive and access.

I already had my bulletproof vest strapped on and so did Hotchner. Prentiss was putting hers on in the back. It was precautionary, of course. Sears was known to have guns…

Hotch parked the SUV in the driveway of an utterly run-down house. The grass seemed to make a personal jungle around the dirty, loose, once-white siding. I wrinkled my nose in disgust. This man could afford two houses, and yet it was in this terrible of shape… Then again, that might be the only reason he was able to have two in the first place.

We walked slowly up to the front door that seemed to be barely held up by the hinges. Tentatively, Hotchner knocked.

He waited a few seconds before knocking again. "Jude Sears! FBI! Open up!" he called. "Mr. Sears!"

"Hotch," I said quietly. The team leader glanced at me. I jerked my head towards the back, and he nodded at me.

Carefully, I drew my gun, slowly walking along the side. I pressed myself against the wall, peeking over into the empty yard.

"Clear," I called to Hotch, who was watching me expectantly. He nodded and I knew he meant that they were going in. I was going to stay back and search some more.

Holding my gun near me, I walked through the weeds and wild grass. There were numerous old, broken, children's toys, strewn around pell-mell. There was a sandbox filled with some murky liquid that I cared not to investigate. I kept exploring. The thought came to my mind that this could've been Sears' childhood home.

My thoughts didn't progress much, though, as I felt a sharp pain on the back of my head. My vision went black, and I had no time to even cry out. I could do nothing and could vaguely remember being dragged. Hotch and Prentiss were still inside, and I knew their search would come up empty. After all, the unsub was right with me, outside.

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Dun dun dun? Okay, next chapter will be back to the present. Ole!

**Review please!**


	3. Escape

… **Oh my God! I am soooooo sorry! (I seem to be saying that a lot…) Okay, so I've just been putting it off (and it's been so freakin' long, I forgot the unsub's name). So basically, I wasn't planning on actually updating for a while, but then dncnmndy had to go and review and make me feel all guilty. I was thinking, "Well gawrsh, someone actually wants me to update…" So I wallowed in guilt for a few days until I decided to jump into action. One of the main reasons I was putting it off was because I wasn't going to have Rossi use his magical powers to get out of the chair. I had to think of an actually possible way, since I'm just a damn perfectionist… Damn, damn, damn my perfectionist ways...**

**Well, here it (finally) is. The thrilling (or not so much) conclusion of BULLSEYE!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Criminal Minds…**

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I wasn't sure how long I'd been sitting there in the dark. But I was doing something in Smith's absence. Patiently and painstakingly slowly, I worked against my binds. The thick rope bit into my tired wrists, but my pants protected my legs, somewhat. It took so long, but gradually, I could feel the rope loosening around my left leg; it wasn't enough to free it, but it did get my blood flowing easier. My right leg was still stuck tight.

There was a bang from upstairs, footsteps, and the door to the basement opened again. The harsh light stung my eyes.

"Davey, o Davey! Having fun?" a singsong-y voice called to me. I bit down hard on the gag to keep my anger in check.

Smith bounded down the stairs; speedy, yet nearly silent. Like a hunting cat, the man slunk towards me. He stopped his face mere inches from mine. An evil grin spread over his face. He quickly removed my gag (thank God!), and said, "I am now accepting questions. I don't feel I would be a very effective evil villain if I didn't reveal my evil plot to you."

I glared at him. He was getting so much joy from this… I took a few seconds, trying to find the perfect question to ask; the one to sum up everything. All I could manage was one simple word.

"How?"

"How what?" he chuckled. "How did I do it? How did I manage to get you? How is it you can't catch me? How is it that I don't fit your profile, the one I'm sure you've created? And finally, how are you supposed to get out?"

I could only nod weakly.

He shrugged. "It's simple, really. I didn't. Grabbed a wrench, and _bam_! I'm just so damn smart. I wasn't the one you were profiling. You aren't."

I stared at him, only half understanding his answers. He leaned close to me; so close I could smell his surprisingly fresh breath. A few more inches, and he was next to my ear.

He whispered tauntingly, "You and your team got it all wrong. You failed! They won't find you, and I'll leave you to the mercy of my brother…" He trailed off.

"Brother," I breathed. What was he talking about? "Jude Sears doesn't have a brother. He's an only child…"

Smith straightened himself up. "But he doesn't know that, does he?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that I've been using Jude Sears as my personal puppet. I've convinced him that I am his long lost brother. I've taken that already disturbed man and I've awaken his inner murderer. _I_ picked the victims, _I_ planned everything, _I_ made sure he wouldn't get caught, and _I'm_ the reason that the next time your team sees you, you'll be in a body bag! How's that for a genius mastermind plan?"

I gaped at him, suddenly at a loss for words. It all made sense: a sociopath recruiting a mentally unstable man to do his dirty work, while he most likely watches. Jude would take the heat for the crimes if caught. A man like him would never betray his beloved _long lost brother_.

"When I heard your team was working on the case, I looked you up. It was rather easy to find information on _you_, Davey. The internet is wonderful, isn't it? But isn't it so lucky," Smith continued, "that you are the perfect victim? And you Feds were at the house when I was! I mean, when I saw you… It all just clicked! Wonderful! I'll get to watch as an FBI agent who was hunting me down be ripped apart! That is the ultimate thrill!" An excited gleam shone in his cold eyes. The smile he gave me sent shivers down my spine.

"So this is like sex for you, you sicko? You'll never get any, so you resort to this?" I retorted. Smith's face immediately changed from eager to stone cold. He slapped my face hard. Perhaps that wasn't the best thing to say.

He turned his back on me. I could see his shoulders shaking with anger, and I could tell he was barely controlling it. Suddenly, he turned around to face me again, a smile on his face. "You like to talk back, huh? Well, that won't last long…"

Before I knew it, Smith was gone. The sound of the door slamming reached my ears. I faintly heard car tires on gravel, and I got the distinct feeling that I was right under the garage.

I was alone again. This was my chance to escape! With renewed vigor, I pulled at the ropes, and surprisingly, the left one simply fell of. It seemed to me that Smith didn't tie it as well as he thought. My triumph lasted 0.2 seconds. My right leg and hands were still tied up. Damn. I closed my eyes and took in a deep breath. _Think, David, think!_ I told myself. _Okay_!

First, I braced my feet against the floor and pushed myself up off the seat, attempting to get my arms up and over the chair back. It didn't work out so well. Either the back was really high, or I wasn't as flexible as I used to be. Unfortunately, I knew it was most likely the latter. I had to think of a solution fast. I didn't want Smith returning during my half-completed escape. A thought came to my head. I cringed at the thought. It would work, but…

"This is going to hurt…"

I took a deep breath, preparing myself. I squeezed my eyes shut and began rocking the chair from side to side. Once more, and the chair began falling to the left. I bit back a scream of pain as the chair back crushed my arm. For several moments, I lay there, breathing heavily.

I couldn't help the harsh thoughts that entered my mind. _Retirement was nice. Sure, it was a bit boring, but nice. Yes, David. Let's go back to work. Let's get kidnapped by psychos. That's so much more fun than doing whatever you want. _It took me a second to collect myself and to ignore the immense pain in my arm.

"Let's try this again," I muttered through gritted teeth.

After a fair bit of wiggling, I had pushed both the slightly loosened rope and my right leg further up the chair leg. I twisted up, finally getting my arms off the chair back. I attempted to lift myself on my elbow, but a searing pain spread through my whole arm as I applied pressure. I hissed in pain, falling back on my side. I'll stay on the floor, I decided. Using my left foot, I hooked my heel under the seat of the chair, pulling it closer to me. At the same time, I straightened out my leg as much as I could. That action pulled the rope to the very bottom of the simple chair leg. With my free foot, I nudged the rope down further, further, and further, until one loop came off. After that, I could remove my other foot. When I did, I let it fall to the floor, but not before I kicked away the chair with malice.

"Step two…" I murmured.

I fixed myself into a kneeling position (after a little bit of work). I lifted myself to my feet, but I immediately fell down again. My legs still had yet to regain their proper blood flow, and they were wobbly. I waited a minute or two until the tingling sensation left. I brought myself up again. I nearly fell again, but this time, I caught myself.

Unfortunately, it was still pitch black. Gingerly, I felt my way around with my feet. After a minute of blind searching, my foot hit something wooden. It was thin and straight up, not like stairs. It was more like a table. I realized I'd gone the wrong way. Instead of heading to the stairs, I'd landed right at the table where I'd head Smith working before. Maybe there was something that I could use to cut the ropes around my wrists! I turned my back to the table and felt around carefully for anything sharp. Not too long after my search began, it ended. My hand closed around a small knife. I couldn't believe my luck. I was glad Smith had a collection of sharp toys he was planning on giving to Sears to use on me…

Never before had I thought words like that could be used in such a positive context.

Before I cut the ropes, I decided to find the stairs. I didn't want to dwell in that dark hellhole for much longer. Since I knew where I was, it wasn't too hard to locate the wooden steps, though I'd almost tripped on the chair. Slowly, I made my way up the stairs. When I was at the top, I realized something. There was a solid wooden door in my way. Wonderful. How was I supposed to get through without my hands being free? I'd have to just try.

I backed down a few steps and seated myself on the top one. As cautiously as I could, I slid the knife under the crack between the door and the floor. I hoped to God that Smith had not chosen that specific time to return. I could imagine him seeing the knife coming out from under the door and deciding to push me down the stairs. I shook the thought from my head, returning to the task at hand. I stood up, going up the final steps backwards. I grabbed the cool metal doorknob between my bound hands and prayed it wasn't locked. It seemed fate was in my favor as the knob turned all the way around. I walked back, pushing the door open. Light flooded around me. Either Smith had left it on, or it was still daylight out.

I sat back down on the steps, grabbing the knife. I finally stood up and exited the basement. It seemed I was in a kitchen. I could see the sun through the window. The time on the microwave clock read '2:41'. That was earlier than when we left for Sears' house. That meant I'd been there overnight.

I gripped the knife in me right hand, positioning it as best I could against the ropes, and I started sawing them. I'd barely started when I heard footsteps. _Dammit_! How had I not heard the car or the door! I backed against the kitchen counter. I knew I couldn't run at that moment, so I just tried to hide the knife. In my frantic rush, the knife slipped, biting into my skin. I could feel the warm blood running down my hand. I pressed it against the cabinet under the sink. I couldn't let the crimson liquid drip onto the floor; for fear that it would betray my actions.

Just then, Smith entered. A surprised look crossed his face for a brief second. "So, Dave… You escaped. I should have expected it. Time to go back downstairs," he said harshly, pulling out a gun.

I stared down the barrel of my M1911. Bastard!

"You expect me to go back? You _must_ be crazy!" Maybe taunting the sociopath with a gun wasn't the smartest idea, but I think all the sitting I did kept the blood from reaching my brain.

Smith took a step closer to me, cocking the gun. I knew I couldn't get any further away, so I kept cutting. I knew I was getting close. Several tense seconds later, I felt the rope slacken. I grabbed the pieces with my now-free left hand so they wouldn't fall to the ground. I knew I couldn't hold them very tight, because my left arm was still in great pain.

"Maybe we can talk about this?" I reasoned. I needed to catch him off guard. "Just put the gun down, and I'll go…"

"I doubt that," Smith snorted, his face grave. He was right.

Then, I heard the front door slam. For a second, Smith lowered his gun away from me, his gaze leaving me. Taking my chance, I threw the rope bits at him as hard as I could. The man held up his arms in defense, accidentally dropping my gun. When it hit the floor, it went off, the bullet burying itself in the wall. Taking advantage of the distraction, I lunged as Smith with the knife. He certainly wasn't expecting that, but he had fast reactions to my attack. His arms shot out, catching mine. I knew I was at a disadvantage: Smith was younger and stronger than me, I was still a little disoriented from my time in the basement, and my stomach took this inconvenient time to remind me that I hadn't eaten anything since yesterday.

Smith and I wrestled on the floor, each trying to get control over the other. Suddenly, there was another man throwing me off Smith. I fell against the cabinets, the wind knocked out of me. The force caused me to drop the knife, but I noticed something else near me. The other man, whom I recognized as Jude Sears, helped Smith up. I dove for my gun, cocking it, and pointing it at the two other men.

"Stop!" I commanded.

"B-b-brother," the huge lug of a man stammered.

"Come on Dave, set down the gun," Smith chided. He sounded confident, but I could see the fear in his eyes.

"Not likely," I growled. My gun still trained on them, I bent down and grabbed the knife gently with my injured arm.

I saw Smith covertly whisper something to Sears. "Stop that!" I demanded, but before I could do anything else, Jude rushed towards me. I fired. The man stared at me with surprised eyes, before he collapsed on the floor, blood leaking from his chest.

I realized that Smith had moved. Sears had been a distraction. Smith was beside me. He grabbed the gun and wrested it from my hand. I saw his thumb move to the hammer to cock the gun. Before he had a chance, I stabbed the knife at him with my bad arm. I got him in the stomach with little force. Smith let the gun clatter to the floor, a look a shock frozen on his face.

I stepped back, surprised myself. A mixture of his and my blood covered my hands, not to mention the blood spatter from Sears.

As Smith crumpled to the ground, I hurriedly grabbed my M1911 and ran. I nearly crashed through the screen of the front door in my haste to get away. Outside, I saw that Smith lived in a normal neighborhood, one with curious neighbors. I saw a few looking hesitantly out their front doors. They must have heard me firing the gun. Didn't they know that they should run away from gunshots?

I ran out into the driveway, looking around me. One middle-aged woman was watering her flowers, staring at me. I ran to her. When I reached her, she backed away, terror in her eyes. I realized I must've looked terrible: I was probably dirty, not to mention the blood. I was sure I smelled, as well, seeing as I hadn't bee able to shower. _Now is not the time to get self-conscious around women, David!_ I told myself. The lady looked at me, the gun in my right hand, the bloody knife in my left, then me again.

"W-what do you want?" she whispered, and I could see tears in her eyes. I dropped the knife. "Did- did you kill Ricky?" she gulped. Ricky must've been Smith's real name.

"No." I lied. Well, I wasn't actually sure. "Ma'am, I'm not here to hurt you… I'm FBI," I told her calmly, reaching for my badge. "Damn!" I cursed when I realized that it was still lying on the floor of Smith's basement. "Please, just call the police."

She looked at me suspiciously. "What?"

"See," I said gently, laying the gun on the grass. "I won't hurt you." I cast a worried glance back at Smi- _Ricky's_ house. To my relief, no one came out, but I saw that several of the neighbors were approaching, both curious and worried. "You need to call the police, now!" I could tell she still didn't trust me. Hell, I wouldn't trust me in this situation. "Please," I whispered.

Her eyes still locked on me, she reached into her back pocket, pulling out her cell phone. Her hand shaking, she handed it to me.

"Thank you!" I said, taking the phone in my bloody hands. I didn't call the police.

"_Hotchner._"

"Hotch!" I cried with relief.

"_Dave?_" I heard the incredulous note in his voice. "_Where are you? What's happened? What is going on?_"

"Not now! I'm at…" The truth was I had no idea _where_ I was. I looked back at the woman. "Uh, ma'am," I asked nervously. This was a bit awkward. "Where exactly am I?"

She looked at me like I was crazy. "Vine Street," she told me slowly, unsure.

"Hotch, I'm on Vine Street. That's not too far from Sears' main house," I recalled. He was about to ask me something, but I cut him off. "No, not now! You can ask me later. Just hurry up and get the police! And we'll need an EMT! Hurry!" I closed the phone

The woman gaped at me. "What's your name?" I asked the woman, looking at the house I'd just escaped from.

Hesitantly, she answered me, "Allyson…"

I turned back at her, an apologetic smile on my face. "Allyson. The police are going to be here soon. They are probably going to ask you some questions. Okay?" She nodded. "Good."

I bent down and grabbed the gun. Allyson jumped, but I just ran back to Ricky's house. Cautiously, I reentered the house. I needed to make sure they were both down, otherwise, they could be dangerous to the civilians. When I returned to the kitchen, I saw that both men were still on the floor. After checking their pulses, I confirmed they were dead. I let out a relieved sigh, slumping wearily against the wall.

There I stayed, waiting for my team to come to my aid.

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**HOLY. CRAP. That was soooooo much longer than I had planned. I didn't plan on having Jude or Allyson in there, but then it was like, BAM! Anyways, YAY! Rossi's not dead! Anyhoo… I hope you enjoyed it.**

**Please review!**


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